


Our Money, Our Problems

by JustSomeScribe



Category: Original Work, PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Organized Crime, Post-Canon, comments about what should or should not be tagged would be definitely appreciated, i’m not very good at tagging but more will be added, same with general feedback
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeScribe/pseuds/JustSomeScribe
Summary: It’s been two years since the death of Bain and the members of the PAYDAY Gang disbanding to all going their seperate ways. The crime spree that plagued Washington D.C. has begun to finally settle. However, this peace doesn’t last, as while the original PAYDAY Gang has split up, four heisters decide to take their place, all while a new and even more unknown individual takes over Crime.NET.Violence, crime, good times, and more will plague this rebooted crew and everyone involved with them. But hey, what can you do?





	1. Make It Rain!

The atmosphere in the apartment was tense. Really tense. Four criminals, an ex-military enforcer, a prodigy-turned-psycho, a honeymoon killer/assassin, and a fun-loving gunman, all stuck in together and waiting. There had to have been a joke related to this exact situation somewhere out there. Too bad what they were all waiting for wasn’t a joke.

For now though, introductions should be in place between this ‘merry’ ‘band’ of misfits.

The enforcer, a French ex-marine and ex-mercenary called Lewis Boucher, more commonly known under the alias of Sarge, had been involved in the world of illegality for a long time. Small time gun smuggling while serving, a mercenary afterwards, and now a full on heister after an infamous diamond robbery in Antwerp. 1 million dollars was the police estimate, all affording a nice chill time in the states before it got a bit too low for Sarge’s liking, so he began stealing valuables and guns, kinda like the old days.

There was only one person the Marine trusted in this entire apartment and that was the young-and-crazy, looking-like-he-just-finished-a-bender Australian with a pill addiction currently sat next to him on a worn, red couch.

Oscar Wickham, better known as Bones, was once a child and teenaged prodigy. Technology, math, inventing, he excelled in all of it. One day though he just snapped, most likely from stress and other factors. Decided he wanted to be a criminal. Got into hacking and discovered where an assortment of money laundering businesses owned by a local Triad were. Even drained a few accounts for extra damage.

Bones and Sarge had worked together on a job to steal some assault rifles from an Overkill MC chapter, ended up burning it all down. When Sarge saved Bones’s life, the two officially became partners-in-crime, Sarge adopting a sort of guardian role for the young and broken man. 

Bones only got bad vibes from one person in the apartment; a very finely dressed lady sat over at a dining table.

The lady’s name was Amaia Flores, AKA Poison, a honeymoon killer and sometime assassin from Argentina. People liked to call her the Flytrap of Buenos Aries. She was quiet, mysterious, and definitely not someone you should fuck with. Poison may not be some muscle freak or Megamind criminal, but underestimating or not excepting her would always play to the Flytrap’s advantage. Overconfidence, a destroyer for some and a stepping stone for others.

Everyone here though knew bits and pieces of the final person in the apartment, a tired man with a forced smile on his face dressed in a simple suit but with what was definitely a clip-on tie.

The man was Brando Occhipinti, but really would rather Mors. Before this he was a prominent soldier in a Sicilian crime family known as Omicidio di Corvi. A lot of the major details were blurry or rumours, like the reason for them trying to killing him. Some say it was a betrayal, some say it was punishment, some say it was wrong place wrong time. But a definite know is that he burnt it all to the ground. Now he jumps between crew to crew as an extra gun trying to drown the pain in good times.

They all continued to sit in silence, with Mors finally speaking up, his Italian accent obvious. “Why are we all here again? Did anyone actually learn that? Because it has been a while since the last of us arrived.”

“I know I was called by the man who now runs Crime.NET,” Sarge spoke up, a tinge of a French accent heard. “Said he had a job for me. Did anyone else get the same?”

Everyone nodded, Bones speaking up next, his Australian accent thick. “Well, let’s think ‘bout this yeah? We ain’t heard nothin’ of Crime.NET in a good long while. Old mate’s dead, his little project gone, most likely situation is this is either a prank, or a sting.”

At the mention of sting, everyone’s hands move close to their weapons. The last person to speak up, Poison, does. “Strange of you to suggest this is a set-up, Englishman, best be careful.”

Both Bones and Sarge get upset, Sarge because this stranger just suggested this kid who he’s worked with for months would work with the cops, and Bones for getting called an Englishman.

Quickly, this all devolves into a shouting match between the three, with Mors trying to both keep a headache from setting in and making sure no one kills each other. 

Suddenly, as if perfectly time, it’s all interrupted by the sound of the landline phone ringing. Everyone goes quiet and disperses from each other, all of them slowly moving towards the phone. 

Sarge picks it up and sets it down, pressing the speaker button so everyone can hear it. “Bonjour? Who is this?”

“Who it is is not currently important for the time being,” states a androgynous TTS voice coming from wherever the hell this caller is. “But what is important is that simple thing that makes the world go round; money. Lots of money, a vault-full amount even. You four are apart of the best killers, gangsters, and even crazies that the criminal underworld has to offer. The simple fact of the matter is I wish for you four to become the beginnings of a new PAYDAY Gang.”

Before any responses can be made a knock is heard at the door. The four look at each other, not knowing if they should go open it or not. Bones just decides on his own accord to go check it out while Sarge keeps speaking with the voice.

“So, by the sounds of all this you are the man that has replaced Bain? I assume if you wish for us to take on the mantle of the PAYDAY Gang you are taking on the identity of Bain?”

Bones opens the door to find four duffle bags sat in the hallway, all of them having each person’s alias on one. Identification one can only assume. The Australian grabs the bag, dragging them into the apartment and over to the group as the voice continues.

“No Sarge, I have a name of my own just like you four. Now, from what I can tell you have brought the bags in. If you would please open the ones with your respective names on them.”

After a few seconds of contemplation the four criminals open each of their duffle bags and inspecting the contents.

In Sarge’s bag is a standard AK and a Chimano 88 with spare amounts of ammunition; including two frag grenades, an earpiece, zip ties, a Ballistic Vest with some a box of blue surgical gloves with all the other bags having the same. On top of it all is a featureless mask with the pattern of the French flag on it. Different spots on the mask have lodged bullets in them, the most prominent one on the nose, but on further examination it’s figured out that they are fake and obviously meant for show. Good craftsmanship though.

In Bones’s bag is a Reinfield 880 shotgun and Bronco .44 also with fair amounts of spare ammunition. Unlike Sarge’s box of blue surgical gloves, the gloves Bones’s got were green. He wasn’t complaining though, green is his favourite colour. Of course, the most prominent item was the mask. The mask, obviously based on a skull, looked like it had the paints thrown on to it; greens and yellows everywhere. Only thing that wasn’t thrown on was a white southern cross constellation on the right cheek and a clown nose painted black. 

In Poison’s bag, instead of containing a primary and secondary, is Akimbo Heather Submachine Guns with spare ammunition. The Argentinian’s box of surgical gloves are white instead of green or blue like Sarge and Bones. The mask is a standard full-face masquerade, white, blue, and bearing feminine features which also double as clown ones, like blushy cheeks and nose. The left side is fully covered in floral patterns like colourful flowers and blood covered thorns, showing both the honeymoon killer’s beauty and danger.

Finally, in Mors’s bag, contains a CAR-4 and a Crosskill with fair amounts of spare ammunition. The Sicilian’s box of surgical gloves are a nice pink, warranting a small bit of jealousy from Poison. The mask actually looks as though it was made from other mask fragments from attachment lines and chips in the recent coat of paint. The pattern and colours are of the Sicilian flag, red and yellow, a reference to Mors’s home. Makes him a bit emotional. A white triskeles is painted around the nose, completing it in Mors’s eyes.

The voice speaks up again. “If you four wish to become infamous, just say the word and I can send you guys on a job right now. Simple bank heist, vault will already be open. In and out, couple minutes at least.”

The four look between them all before giving small nods. Sarge grabs the phone, stepping away from his newly given equipment. “We’re in.”

XXXXXX

The van was already waiting for them at the front of the apartment building, ‘just in case’ the voice had claimed, now speaking into their ears. The drive over to the bank they were to rob, a Harvest & Trustee location, felt like it took hours even though it was only a few minutes, as the newly christened second PAYDAY Gang continued looking at all their new equipment, familiarising themselves with it, everything they had to do to make sure they don’t accidentally shoot themselves or something like that.

Finally, the van stopped. Sarge looked between this band of crooks, mask covering his face. “Well comrades, are we all ready?” Everyone gave some sort of confirmation; nods, yes’s, thumbs up. “Excellent. Let’s go quick and easy money.”

The van doors swung open as the four hustled out, guns in hands and masks on faces. They ran to the front entrance, Bones firing his Reinfield 880 into the ceiling while his accomplices gunned down guards, the Australian’s laughter being an obvious juxtaposition to the yells and sounds of people dropping to the floor in fear as the voice informs them the police are on their way. 

The Basketcase stood up onto one of the waiting chairs as his crew mates restrained civs, grabbed the cash in the teller cage, shot anymore guards, and went for the vault. Just like in a movie, the young criminal began a speech. “Ladies, gentlemen, and everything else! No worries here! We’re here just for some sweet, sweet, sweet dollarydoos! Co-operate and she’ll be right, and if you don’t... well, we’ll shoot your dipstick asses!” He cackles and fires another shoot into the ceiling.

From the vault, Poison shouts. “Idiota! Stop firing into the fucking roof and come help us, you fucking amateur!”

Bones does a hand puppet and mocking repeats Poison’s words under his breath in a high pitch. When he jumps down from his chair, the sound of a pistol is heard, the bullet going through the window and whizzing past the young man’s head.

He ducks down next to an ATM machine, slowly crouch walking over to the entrance and peaking out, seeing two cops with pistols drawn creeping towards the doors. 

Noting that he has yet to be noted, Bones jumps out and fires the shotgun at one of the officers, hitting them square in the chest before ducking back to cover. “Mates! We got Blue Heelers!” He calls out to his crew mates before looking through the same window the bullet went through. The Australian positions himself, seeing the cop kneeling over his now most likely dead partner and radioing for back-up, but is cut off by a shotgun blast to the back.

Over in the vault Mors and Poison stand confused to what Blue Heelers means, but based of the shots it means police. Sarge looks at the two. “Alright, I am going to keep an eye on the stairs to the roof and back door. You guys stay here on guard in case reinforcements come through the windows. Keep bagging to, we nearly have all the cash.”

Mors and Poison just keep bagging, Sarge standing in the corridor containing the back door and stairs, next to the security room. Wait, the security- 

Sarge has no time to process when a guard comes running out, ramming Sarge into the concrete wall, his AK pressed sideways against his chest as the two struggle to see who will win this fight. 

With a kick to one of the guard’s knees and a headbutt, Sarge is given enough breathing room to pull out his Chimano 88 and fire two shots to the guard’s head, the body dropping to ground. 

The Marine slowly puts the pistol away, letting out a breath of relief, but this moment is quickly interrupted by the voice in his air. “Reinforcements are here! Get ready, assault in progress!” Oh fuck.

XXXXXX

“Mors! You Italian perra, give me covering fire!”

“I can’t va bene signora? I’m pinned down as well! Sarge, where the hell are you?”

“I’m on this damn roof trying to help keep the pressure off of you guys and make sure Bones doesn’t get himself killed in the damn parking lo-“

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EXTRA CRISPY EXTRA CRISPY EXTRA CRISPY!”

The situation quickly went FUBAR as one would put it; Mors and Poison stuck due to police fire in the cubicles and vault respectively, Sarge regularly raining gunfire down on police in an attempt to redirect cops who were on Mors and Poison, and Bones was high as kite on some pills he called ‘Shockaz’ in the parking lot, having now thrown one of his two frog grenades at some cops, which has certainly helped drawn some attention away from the Flytrap and the Made Man, but wasn’t gonna make the situation easier for the Basketcase.

“Oh, père, fils, et esprit saint, alright I got to go back up Bones! You guys start moving bags for the vans! I’ll-“ The Marine is interrupted by the sight of a red laser, forcing him to cover as a sniper rifle shot is heard next. “Merde. Fucking snipers. It’s always one thing after another isn’t it?”

Back inside Poison is busy grabbing bags and tossing them out of the vault while Mors kicks the now confused and thinned SWAT members while they’re down, grabbing some of the thrown bags. 

Five bags in total, a good haul in their eyes, the Italian taking three as the Argentinian takes the other two, both of them making their way to the side entrance leading out to the lot. 

In the lot, Bones is having a great time. Shooting, killing, destroying. It’s all very nice in his eyes, especially since he’s currently on some pills that not even he knows the origins off of. He likes to call them his meds. They sure do help. He’s really wondering where this laser has come from though.

Sarge peaks out behind his cover when he sees the laser move elsewhere. Move towards... Bones. “Non!” The Frenchman quickly jumps out behind his cover, firing full-auto at where the laser is coming from, forcing the sniper to be the one to take cover.

In this moment of the marksman’s laser gone, Sarge quickly heads down to the parking lot by some side stairs, bumping into Mors and Poison as well, getting one bag from the honeymoon killer and two from the ex-mobster. 

The Italian grabs one of the Australian shoulders, causing him to jump as he gets ready to shoot whoever it was, but instead sees his crew mates. “Ah, cobbers! How are we?”

Sarge begins pushing the young man towards the van, with Mors handing Bones a bag of money as well while Poison provides covering fire. “Yes my friend yes, we are diamant, but we need to go now ok? We can kill later.” 

This warrants a groan of dissatisfaction from Bones. “But Sarge! I ain’t done yet bro! Please lemme kill some more?”

Sarge simply shakes his head. “Non my friend, we must go ok, we gotta get our payday!”

The van’s doors are wide open as Sarge shoves Bones into the van, who is still trying to get Sarge to let him stay to keep killing, but it lands on deaf ears. The rest of the gang begin getting in as they throw in any bags they have. In one of the windows of the same building the sniper from before was camped in, that same red laser focuses on the Marine. 

As soon as the rifle goes off, Sarge is yanked into the van, its doors slamming shut and the vehicle peeling out of there. Everyone is silent, with the Frenchman looking at a hand on his arm, his eyes following it to Mors’s still masked face. “Hey, thanks comrade.” He tells the Sicilian, only for the Made Man to motion his head to Bones.

Sarge’s eyes goes to the Basketcase, whose mask has been shed. The two simply nod at each other, the voice returning to their ears.

“Hey, good work folks. Hope you won’t mind staying at your new safe house for a few, just till the heat dies down. I’m already going through future possible jobs, everyone stay on your toes. Count your stacks, we’re all a lot more richer.”


	2. Getting Comfy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple series of interactions between the crew in their safe house, and news that their next job isn’t gonna something simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this character interaction chapter, hope you all like it, it also does a bit more physical description for the characters

Sarge stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bathroom he was in wasn’t his own of course. It was located in the safe house of the new PAYDAY Gang, which he essentially acted as the leader for now. 

It was an interesting situation they were in. It had already been a month since their first bank heist together and in that time they’d already done an assortment of other bank jobs and smash ‘n’ grabs. It had the news and people divided, with some claiming they were nothing more than rip-offs while others said they were proper successors to the original PAYDAY Gang.

The Marine ran his fingers over his face, taking in the features he can see. A light brown buzzcut and some stubble, thick eyebrows, a Greek nose type, pale thin lips, baby blue eyes. It had a fairly average face and he honestly didn’t mind.

His fingers kept drifting back to his stubble. It was a habit he picked up while serving, along with the buzzcut and a strict schedule. Sarge’s eyes glanced down to his dog tags and over to his shoulder, seeing his tattoo peaking out from under his white t-shirt.

Pulling up the sleeve the Frenchman began admiring the tattoo that has sat on his skin since Antwerp. Just thinking about it made him feel nice.

The tattoo was a sort of collage of things Sarge saw as important moments or things in his lifetime. The French Flag, the symbol of the French Army, the IDDAI initials, diamonds, guns, bullets, the symbol of GIGN, blood, dollar symbols. It was a really good piece of work. 

Sarge rolled the sleeve back down over the majority of the tattoo and stepped out of the bathroom, slip-on shoes and baggy sweatpants really helping to make him feel comfy. Instead of heading back to his room, the Marine decides to go see how the rest of the crew is going, starting with the person he knew best; Bones.

As the Frenchman headed for the young Australian’s workshop, he also took in the safe house. It was large, well-maintained, comfortable; and was the second safe house owned by the original PAYDAY Gang. Now none of them could know if the voice, or Kain as they had taken to calling him which Bones eloquently explained was “‘cause it rhymes with Bain.”

Heading down into the basement and over to the room closest to the stairs, Sarge saw the Basketcase sat on a beanbag in front of a tv playing something Xbox, a bowl of milk-less cereal sat next to him, with him occasionally grabbing one from the bowl and just swallowing it. “It’s a placebo,” he told him once when he first saw him doing this, “routine stops me from downing Shockaz like Tic-Tacs.” 

Bones had already put his nice little spin on his workshop. Graffiti was scattered on the walls, smiles, swirls, skulls, symbols, etc. The area where all his work equipment sat also appeared in use, as scattered bits of tech and metal, and even his new shotgun covered the bench. 

There were other details in the room like a box of clothes, a Bolo machete with an assortment of engravings sat up against a wall, knick-knacks and other junk in plastic milk crates. 

“So,” Sarge walks over to the workbench, running a hand along the gun. “What’re you working on my friend?”

Bones pauses his game, looking over at Sarge, sunglasses and dirty blonde bangs hiding his eyes and layers covering most of his skin. The Frenchman always wondered if the young Australian ever got hot wearing all those sleeves. He didn’t even know why he did it in all his days working with him. 

The Basketcase stood up, walking over to the workbench and picking up the shotgun. “This is my latest project. I am gonna convert this pretty little thing into a fully automatic. Name it something you know? Blast cunts faster.”

He slightly nudges Sarge aside, sitting down at the bench and continuing his work. “Why don’t you just buy a new shotgun? Don’t you also have a lot of money now?”

Bones just keeps most of his focus on the gun as he talks to the Marine. “Nah yeah was, but I trust my handiwork to not shoot my hands off. You know, if ya want I could make you some like... a small minigun or something.”

Sarge just pats him on the shoulder. “No I’m ok, thank you though friend. I’m going to go check on the others, stay safe.” The Frenchman left the workshop, heading back up the basement steps and back onto the ground floor, heading over to Poison’s corner.

Poison’s corner was located in a fairly average sized room which once contained a bar based on the fact the counter of one is covered by tarp. The owner of the corner was also there, a floral painting propped against the wall next to her as she lounged about on fancy, red pillows and blankets. Even when the Argentinian was in casual mode she never let her need to be fancy falter; a red blouse and her suit pants, her brown hair a mess but tucked behind her ears as to avoid it getting in her eyes.

Spotting Sarge about to past the threshold into the room, she puts up a finger. “Ah ah ah patata frita, what’s the magic word?”

The Marine just let out a sigh with a small smile, walking up to the Flytrap. “And bonsoir to you as well mort de dame, relaxing well I assume?” He sits down near the honeymoon killer’s nest.

Poison laughed. “You know, all these words make it sound like you’re flirting with me. Ever considered marriage?”

The Frenchman puts up a hand. “Now now madam, I’ve heard the stories about you. Flytrap of Buenos Aries, a femme fatale, a notorious assassin. The rich and the corrupt of South America would quiver before you, would they not?” 

The Argentinian scoffs, flicking aside her hair. “You make it sound as though that no longer happens. I am only here on a long vacation, I will return to my home one day but killing for life insurance isn’t one of the most sustainable ways of making money isn’t it?”

Sarge nods. “Yes, but neither is heisting. You know, for someone who hails from a country that speaks Spanish more than English, your English is very good.”

Poison leans back on her pillows. “Ahhh yes, that is correct, and you know I can say the same for you. Let’s just say I had people.”

The Marine just nods at this. “Alright, well, I’m going to go check on Mors, hopefully he is sleeping. The man needs it in my opinion.” He stands back up, leaving the room and heading up to the top floor as Poison goes back to relaxing.

On the top floor of the safe house one of the most prominent features is a sort of office area which Mors has made a section of his; a security station of sorts. It was a few tvs that connected to the few cameras they had, but with time and with money it’d all be improved. There was also documents, blueprints, flies, all important stuff they needed, including a table for crew meetings. The only thing that seemed out of place was a sofa bed the rest of the crew bought to try and give Mors more incentive to sleep.

Speaking of the man, the Sicilian - whose only different in outfit was the fact his clip-on tie and suit jacket were somewhere - was currently looking over some file on the sofa bed, some Italian written on the front. Sarge walked over to him, sitting down on one of the arm rests. “Bonsour Mors, what are you reading?”

Mors shuts the file, setting it aside and running a hand through his neatly trimmed black hair. “Ah, just some this and that from il vecchio paese. I get homesick sometimes you know. Done any shooting today Sarge?”

“No, not yet,” The Marine responde. “I’ve actually been waiting to see if Kain contacts us with any new jobs. Everyone needs to be paid, non?” 

“Sì, I couldn’t agree more. You ever miss France? Cause from what I know of you you haven’t been back in years.” The Made Man questioned.

Sarge simply sighed. “No I... I don’t really think I can. France never truely was home, I was a military kid, when I turned 18 I ended up spending most of my time in Africa and the Middle East. Even when I was in France during those days I was too busy serving. When I finally quit merc work I was in Belgium. Now I am here.”

Mors nods. “Yes I can understand. I can’t go back to Sicily or Italy, Hell most of Europe because of what I did. People don’t know what really happened since it died with many and to be honest I don’t care to remember. That part of my life brings nothing but pain. No more simple good times, just pain. Maybe that is why I like to have fun sometimes, to grab at air you know?”

This personal conversation leaves the two silent. Sarge ends up just simply patting Mors on the shoulder, a small show of solidarity. The Marine stands back up and leaves the office area, heading back down to the ground floor and over to the armoury.

The armoury had pretty much been made into Sarge’s room in the safe house, a place for everyone to store weapons, maintain weapons, modify weapons, and even shoot weapons thanks to a small sort of shooting range they had added in. It was quite quant.

Slowly shutting the door to the armoury as to entrap any noise, Sarge began to spend the rest of the day with the weapons, taking care of them, testing them, just passing the time. Now they didn’t hold tons of weapons of course, few standard ones, modifications, but with time they’d probably have enough to arm a small milita.

The others would come in and out. Bones came in with Bodgy as he now called his newly-made-automatic-Reinfield-880-shotgun, testing it out on targets with large success, both with how it acts and how it isn’t exploding, much to the joy of the Australian and worry of the Frenchman. Especially with the markings he’d put on it, and that paint dear god. 

Poison came in to check on her Akimbo Heather SMGs, which she had tasked Sarge with modifying and customising to fit her ‘aesthetic’ as she put it. Built in silencers, floral patterns. It was quite nice. The Argentinian had already named them even, Señorita Asesina and Señorita Masacre respectively. The Marine really respected her commitment. 

Finally, Mors came in, but not to for some afternoon shooting. “Sarge, Kain’s called, crew meeting now in the office. Something about another job, something good. Let’s go we’re waiting for you.”

The Frenchman puts an assault rifle he was cleaning back in its place, following the Sicilian out of the armoury, up the stairs to the top floor, and in to the office where Poison and Bones are already sat at the meeting table, a landline phone on the table and currently on speaker.

Sarge and Mors take their seats, the Marine leaning towards the landline. “Kain, we are all here, what’s up?”

The androgynous Text-to-Speech-sounding voice they had already grown accustomed to began speaking. “Welcome Sarge, glad you’re here with us. And what is up is a job that will mark the beginning of our future infamous status. Does anyone here know of Mister William Dodge at all?”

The crew all looked at each other before giving no’s. “Ah, that’s fine, don’t need to need much. Mister Dodge is a well known Republican supporter and rich man, old money. Speaks a lot about traditional values and the American way. He also owns two very valuable swords, claims they’ve been in his family since the Dark Ages, heirlooms which slaughtered thousands in battle. It’s most likely false and just a way to him to feel on top of the world. It doesn’t diminish their value though, they are authentic medieval blades and I have a wealthy collector who’s interested in them. This guy will pay big bucks, so if you’re all up for a stealth-only job this is a good one. Now I say stealth-only since if alarms go off, I’m pulling you guys out immediately. So, any takers?”

Poison speaks up first. “Oh, I will, cien por ciento. It’s been a long while since I’ve gotten the chance to actually do something quietly, what with these knuckle draggers.”

Bones looks at her wide eyed. “Well if you’re gonna be like that then I’m up for this as well, just to show that this knuckle dragger can throw you into the dust, from the Big Smoke to the Bush, ya dig?”

Sarge speaks up next. “I’m up for this, but solely to make sure these two don’t get themselves arrested by being imbéciles haut et puissants.”

Finally, Mors speaks. “Well, guess that leaves me. Sure, I’ll come along. I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Guess we’re all in then Kain.”

“Excellent, I’ll send over the equipment and documents you guys need,” Kain says. “Get some good nights of rest folks, this is gonna be good. I’ll let you all go now.” 

And with that, Kain hangs up, the crew members all heading off the different parts of the safe house for some needed sleeping; because as Kain said, this is gonna be big.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so like I mentioned before comments would be great, next chapter is gonna be the aforementioned heist in this, thank you and goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is all fairly new ground to me, so yeah general feedback and advice and all that sort of stuff would be deeply appreciated but in the end I just hope you guys enjoy this, even though I am kinda doing this for my own good vibes


End file.
